


so this is not an act of spite (it's a visceral coming-to)

by i_was_human



Series: blurring the fact and the fiction [4]
Category: Lost in Translation (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood, D.Min Week 2021, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Nihilism, No Beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_human/pseuds/i_was_human
Summary: is he better than me?has he seen more to this life?can he smoke more?can he fuck more?-losing face, wilbur soot
Relationships: Kang Dongho | D.Min & Kang Dongho | D.Min's Parents, Kang Dongho | D.Min & Lee Minsoo
Series: blurring the fact and the fiction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167329
Kudos: 6





	so this is not an act of spite (it's a visceral coming-to)

Dongho never knew it was possible to be a least favorite only child.

It should be impossible. It should be impossible for someone to replace a child with no siblings, because there's nobody _to replace them_.

And yet.

Dongho stares at the child his parents are fawning over - golden hair, tan skin, movie-star smile - and feels horribly _lacking_.

The boy's parents - the Kims? - place their hands on his shoulders, and the boy smiles, five thousand shades of _movie star_ in the simple movement, and Dongho stares down at himself - at the awkward way he holds himself, at the way his suit hangs off his shoulders, at his pale skin and too-narrow eyes and too-long hair - and feels _wrong_.

He's not enough.

And why would he be?

He doesn't- doesn't measure up to the brilliant girls and boys scattered around the room. Doesn't measure up, not with his love of music and penchant for silence and awkward stares.

He does not measure up.

He swallows hard, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He's not- not the son his parents wanted, not the son they needed, _not anything_ -

"This is Dongho," his parents smile, and even at eight, Dongho knows it's strained. "Why don't you say hi, Dongho-yah?"

"Hi," he mumbles, and his mother scowls, smacking the back of his head.

"Yah! Be more polite to the Kims!"

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, dropping into a bow. "It's nice to meet you."

"Discipline your child better," Mr. Kim scolds, and Dongho nods, tears burning his eyes. 

The other boy introduces himself, and his parents titter in approval, and Dongho keeps his head bowed and shoulders ramrod-straight, and it's in this moment that he first realizes he _really doesn't measure up_.

* * *

This feeling never goes away.

He gets a ninety-five on the test - "were you the top of the class? No? Then do better."

He talks to a few people at the latest gala - "is that _all_? The Choi's son made friends with at least _twelve_ people he'll be able to make a deal with."

He tries _so, so hard_ to write a song his parents love - "you shouldn't be spending your time on such vapid pursuits. Not when your grades are so abysmal."

In this way, Dongho learns to hate the letter B.

There's always a hidden _you can do better_ from his parents in each grade below one hundred, always a pair of watchful eyes every time he scribbles an arpeggio on his homework. There's always _expectations_ on one end of the scale, and Dongho on the other, and no matter what he does, expectations always wins. 

He's a disappointment.

This, he knows.

It's etched into his soul, carved in hundreds of jagged papercuts, and there's a certain kind of _nihilism_ that accompanies that - a kind of nihilism that goes well with knowing he is, inexorably, _a disappointment_. 

It's freeing, in the oddest sort of way.

After all, no matter what he does, he'll be disappointing.

So he turns himself towards music, turns himself towards something he _really, genuinely loves_ , and it makes his heart beat faster than it ever has, a heady sort of rush accompanying it, and it stretches the papercuts and makes them bleed, but _god_ does he welcome it.

His parents must be so ashamed, he thinks, scribbling another arpeggio on his notes. They must be _so, so ashamed_ of the person he's become, _so, so ashamed_ of the way he doesn't even bother to try at galas anymore, _so ashamed_ to have him as a son-

but they should've known.

They should've known there's only so far you can push something until it snaps, and Dongho is _so, so sick of bending_.

In retrospect, he should've told his parents to go fuck themselves. He really, really wishes he had. 

But he was young, and afraid, and still wanted his parent's approval, deep deep down, so he said nothing.

He still wishes he had.

* * *

There has always been this-

 _doubt_ , he supposes-

as to whether Jeongmin really cares.

He's no fool. He knows he's still on the Kang's payroll, knows they're likely paying him to make sure he stays out of trouble. He's not a pessimist, he's a _realist_.

He likes to think there's a difference.

After all, Jeongmin's- Jeongmin's been _nicer_ , yes, but he's always been there to make sure Dongho stays out of trouble. He's always been there - watching, observing - and even if he was more lax with the rules, Dongho _knows_ there's judgement.

There always is.

It makes sense, though. Send the most loyal butler out to watch the family reject.

It makes sense.

(a part of him wishes it didn't.)

But, well- he's the family disappointment. He _knows_ he's the family disappointment. 

Can nihilism and realism coexist?

It doesn't matter. The fact is this: Dongho is the family disappointment, so he can do _anything_.

He spent his time hostel-hopping doing just that. Got drunk, messed around, _had fun_ before he had to slip back into the persona of someone he's long-since outgrown.

The lust for freedom hasn't gone away, though.

It burns just under the surface, hot and bright and _daring_ , and he _wants_ to chase it, _wants_ to run after it as fast as he can and let it burn away the persona of _Kang Dongho_ , subservient child, dutiful son, someone far too afraid of his parents to do anything more than leave in the night without another word-

and the option comes in the form of a new name.

D.Min.

(there's a reason it's first in his twitter handle.)

* * *

Minsoo sees it, he thinks.

The determination, the blazing flame, the _desperation_ to become something more - he sees it, and he understands it.

They're both burning _bright bright bright_ , both far too big for the roles they have to play, and Dongho welcomes this - welcomes having someone by his side as they both slowly burn through their ill-fitting roles and slowly turn into the people they've always been. It's _nice_ , really - having someone there who's not there to judge him or keep an eye on him or _anything_ \- and though he knows he's MAYHEM's leader, he knows that before that, Lee Minsoo is his friend.

That's something he likes, he decides. Friends over family. 

They try cigarettes together, get plastered together and stumble back to Dongho's apartment together. They spend late nights at the studio together, spend more time together than Dongho ever (voluntarily) has with anyone, and it's _nice_.

There's less of the burn of unwanted company and more of a gentle warmth, and Dongho _likes that_. He likes it, likes feeling warm instead of burning sometimes, and it's _comforting_ instead of something painful and aching.

(the papercuts still sting, but it's nothing compared to the gentle warmth company brings.)

And they _don't care_. That's the thing - they _really don't care_. They're disappointments, and they're failures, and they _fucking know it_ but _god_ do they not care.

It's freeing.

They're burning and flying and soaring and dying all at the same time, and they're not quite who they were and not quite who they will be, but they're free to find it out, and that-

that's worth it.

(and, well the disappointment from his parents-

that wasn't the intention, but he can't say it's a side effect he deeply regrets.

after all, they should've known.

there's a reason that even the most flexible of metals can snap, after all, and it's always been pressure.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for day five of d.min week 2021! prompt: family/friends
> 
> fic title from losing face by wilbur soot
> 
> [twit](https://twitter.com/i_was_human_) | [lit fic discord!](https://discord.gg/CNunB74)


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